


love bites

by visiblemarket



Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: Divorce, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Hickeys, John Constantine Kissing Dudes 2K14, M/M, So hard, chas's life is so hard you guys, devastating and juvenile handjobs, did i mention this is father's day fic?, this is father's day fic, two days late and several dollars short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 21:10:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4195038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visiblemarket/pseuds/visiblemarket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Happy Father's Day, Chas Chandler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“…’s easy enough, I think. Up to Oregon for the weekend, get a lay of the land, get a better grasp on what we’re dealin’ with and all that—" 

“John."

John makes a vaguely inquisitive noise but doesn’t look up from the new map and the various print outs Chas had been sent to retrieve from Ritchie Simpson. 

“I’m leaving for New York tomorrow."

That gets his attention; he looks up, frowning, and takes the cigarette out of his mouth. “No,” he says, with a distinct edge of impatience in his voice. “You’re up next week."

Chas is surprised he’s bothered to notice a pattern at all. “Usually. But this weekend’s—“ John’s eyes narrow and Chas shakes his head. “Renee wanted me to switch.” 

John snorts. “Mm, got plans, does she?” 

“I didn’t ask.” 

That gets an eye roll, which is, in the grand scheme of things, not the worst emotional avenue for John to go down. Chas’ll take annoyed and insufferable over depressed and self-destructive any day, especially when he’s not going to be around to run interference. John ducks his head, puts the cigarette back in his mouth, and becomes entirely engrossed in the papers in front him.

“ _Right_ ,” he says, probably sharper than he intends, because he winces after. “Take the week, then, mate."

Chas sighs. “I don’t need to—"

“Anythin’ to keep the missus happy, yeah?” He takes a drag of his cigarette, deposits the ash into the cup of tea Chas had brought him hours ago, which he hadn’t bothered to actually drink before it went cold, and chuckles to himself. “Or is ’t ex-missus by now? Never could keep track of that. Supp’se there’s a bit of that going around, eh?” 

“John,” he says, more for appearance’s sake than anything, but John cuts him off before he can make even a token effort. 

“Sure we can muddle through with out you _somehow_ , mate,” he sneers. “Take the whole bloody month if you want.”

And Chas has to admit, he’s tempted.

*

“You could just tell him."

Chas nearly slices off his fingertips. “Jesus!” 

Zed, who’s managed to materialize behind him within the past five seconds and hoist herself up to sit on the table in complete silence, gives a small smile and an apologetic shrug. “Sorry. You could just tell him."

Chas turns around and gets back to the onions. “Tell him what."

“You want to spend Father’s Day with your daughter. There’s nothing wrong with that."

“Fathers aren’t exactly John’s favorite topic of conversation."

Zed clears her throat; he glances at her, and she gestures at herself with a dramatic sweep of her hand. 

“Well, I wasn’t gonna tell you, either,” he says, turning back around.

“You thought I wouldn’t know it was Father’s Day if you didn't tell me?” her voice is more teasing than incredulous, and Chas finds himself smiling.

“John won’t."

“I won’t what?"

“You won’t get any dinner until you apologize,” says Zed, which is nice of her, if completely futile.

“Sorry, Zed,” John says, breezily, crowding against Chas’ side to see what he’s doing. He smells of cigarette smoke, as always, but also of dust and sweat, and Chas pushes down the automatic swell of affection that rises like bile in the back of his throat.

Zed huffs and jumps off the table. “Not to me, _pendejo_ ,” she says, slapping the back of John’s head. John whirls around to glare at her, and Chas is sorely tempted to send them both to their rooms to cool off.

He steps between them instead, and stares at John until John glances up and meets his eyes. “You’re covered in ink. Go wash up. Dinner’ll be ready when you get back."

John’s eyes spark, and then he smirks in obvious pride of what he’s about to say. But his gaze drifts behind Chas, and whatever he sees there is enough to shut him up for the moment. He turns on his heel and goes without so much as a frown, an eye roll, or a huff of annoyance.

Chas glances behind him, and sees Zed, perched back on the table and looking downright angelic, which is to say, not as innocent as she thinks.

“And you,” he says, fighting a smile of his own; she raises her eyebrows in expectation. “Go set the table, okay?"

Zed laughs, nods, and goes.

*

Dinner is fine.

Brisket, tomato and onion salad, mashed potatoes, apple pie. John scarfs down everything on his plate without a word, to Chas, Zed, or himself.

When he’s done, he rises, hesitates, grabs his plate, and address the table: “Thanks, mate. It’ll be a while till we have a proper meal again, so—thanks.” And with that he’s gone, back to the kitchen and, probably, out the door as soon as he can manage.

Zed looks at Chas; Chas looks back, shrugs, and takes a sip of his beer. It’s John; that’s about as much of an apology as he’s ever going to get from him, not that Chas even really thinks he needs one. 

Dinner is fine.

*

He wakes up a few minutes past midnight to the unmistakeable sensation of someone sliding into bed with him.

Five years ago, it would’ve been so common as to not wake him; one year ago, it would’ve been a relief, a sign that Renee’d forgiven him for whatever argument they’d had that afternoon. Now, it’s always John, and it’s always unexpected, and it’s never a relief. 

He sighs, too tired to even make his usual token protest, and John takes that for the acceptance it is and curls up against him, tucking his face into the side of Chas’ throat.

John’s naked, of course, warm and half-hard already as he rubs up against Chas’ thigh and drops wet, sucking kisses up along Chas’ neck. Chas reaches over to run a hand through John's hair, which is damp from the shower he’s obviously just taken, and John hums and wraps his arm around Chas’ waist, pulling himself tighter against Chas’ side as he leans over to kiss Chas on the mouth.

It shouldn’t feel as good as it does. 

He knows the score with John, that the fact John is kissing him instead of any of the other people he could be kissing right now is worth nothing, really, except for the slight surge of ego that realization always brings. Make no mistake about it, though, he knows where that mouth’s been, been told about it in precise detail on occasion, when John’s come home filthy and wired and still unsatisfied, still smelling of stale beer, still tasting of someone else.

That shouldn’t have felt as good as it did, either.

But tonight, John doesn’t taste like anything, really: no cigarettes, no alcohol, just a hint of toothpaste. He smells clean and fresh and like someone else entirely, and it’d be distracting, except for the fact that he still feels like John, always tense and too thin, all sinew and bone and a surprisingly soft mouth. He runs a hand through Chas’ hair and moans into his mouth, breathes heavily against him, and pulls away like it’s painful to do so.

“So bloody good to me, Chas,” he murmurs, and Chas doesn’t think he’s ever heard John say anything that mild in bed before. He runs his hand up John’s spine, urging him closer. John chuckles, hips twitching against Chas’ thigh again, then reaches down to wrap his palm around Chas’ cock. “‘m such a…” he lets out a low, breathless sound as Chas’ cock swells in his hand, and he gives it a slow, careful stroke. “Such a cruel, utter bastard t’ you,” his grip tightens, his pace quickens, and Chas resists the temptation to rock into his hand. “And you… _Christ_ , love. You poor daft sod. Always tryin’ to take care of me. Want to just—“ he’s breathless, desperate, and sucking at Chas’ throat again. “Take care of you. For a bit, yeah?"

“Are you drunk?” Chas says, more out of surprise than anything, and John goes suspiciously still.

“No?” he says, still panting in Chas’ ear, uncertain enough that Chas curls his fingers in John’s hair and guides John's head back. It’s too dark to see much, but their eyes meet, and John blinks. “No,” he repeats, lower, surer. An uneasy smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Sober as a judge, me."

Chas is inclined to believe him; John’s too tense to be drunk, too focused. What he’s focused on, Chas is not quite sure he wants to know. He loosens his grip on John’s hair and John surges against him, kissing his mouth again. It’s wetter and fiercer than before, and John’s making the quick, impatient noises that mean he’s ready to be fucked. He makes no such requests, though he’d usually be begging for it by now; just keeps jacking Chas off with firm, practiced strokes, leaking pre-come against Chas’ leg, and sliding his tongue into Chas’ mouth. Chas runs one hand through John’s hair, gently, fitfully, and grips John’s ass with the other, encouraging the abrupt, seemingly involuntary rolls of his hips against Chas’ side. 

John whines and squirms and breaks their kiss, dropping his head to Chas’ sternum. He presses his cheek to Chas’ chest and seems to be watching, mouthing distractedly at Chas’ skin as he observes the rapid, almost possessive strokes of his own hand over Chas’ red, swollen cock. 

Chas finds himself watching that, the top of John’s head and the slide of John’s hand; he keeps running is fingers through John’s hair, and John nuzzles against him, strangely tender in a way Chas recognizes from more than a decade ago, but hasn’t seen much of since.

It doesn’t last long; Chas finally gives in to the now burning need to thrust into John’s grip, and John rewards that instinct by kissing his way back up Chas’ chest and along the hollow of his throat. “Such a bloody glorious cock, mate,” he growls, nipping at Chas’ earlobe. It’s not a turn on, exactly, but he’s so close, and John’s hand feels so good, and the low rasp of his voice sends a familiar, devastating thrill up Chas’ spine. 

He comes hard, all over John’s hand and his own stomach, as John grins into his neck and murmurs, “Vain, filthy bastard,” with a great deal of fondness, right in Chas’ ear. 

Chas wants to kiss him again but John’s gone before he has the chance, sliding down the bed so he can lick up every last trace of come of Chas’ stomach. Chas runs his palms over John’s neck and arms and shoulders as he does, touches as much of him as he can reach, and John glances up at him, dark-eyed and strangely calm, even though Chas can feel how hard he still is. 

“C’mere,” he manages, slipping his hand under John’s arm and encouraging him up. John goes, crawling up till he’s straddling Chas’ hips. The tip of his erection slides against the sweat and spit and come-streaked expanse of Chas’ stomach, and he groans, dropping his head as his hips shift. “John,” he says, and John grunts in acknowledgment but keeps rutting against Chas’ stomach. Chas lets him, run his hands up and down along John’s sides, and then wraps them around John’s waist and _squeezes_ , hard enough to bruise. John lets out a choked, surprised sound, and drops his forehead to Chas’ sternum again. “Bloody hell, mate,” he mumbles, sounding almost lost, gives a desperate, full-body shudder, and comes.

*

He wakes up with John still on top of him.

It’s hardly the first time it’s happened, but he’s still surprised: it’s always up in the air with John, whether he’ll stay and snore in Chas’ bed till morning, or sneak out the minute Chas falls asleep. John hates sleeping alone, but he also hates admitting it, even to himself, and Chas has yet to figure out what it is that tips the scales in either direction. Laziness, probably. 

Chas runs his fingers through John’s hair, which is more of a mess than usual. John’s too deep in sleep to respond, doesn’t even curl closer like he always does when he’s in the mood to be petted. Chas presses a kiss to the top of John’s head, shuts his eyes again, and decides to enjoy the relative peace.

*

“I’m leaving!” he calls out, not really expecting much of an acknowledgement. Zed, who’s sitting on the couch, drawing pad on her knees, waves him over and moves to stand. Before he can so much as take a step, John’s stumbling out from one of the darker corners of the mill house and desperately trying not to look like he’s in a hurry. He’s dressed, at least, pants on, shirt buttoned, sleeves rolled up; no tie, but he’s shaved. He strolls up to Chas, unconcerned, and Chas can’t help stare at him, wary of wherever this is going.

Where it’s going is John grabbing him by collar of his shirt and yanking him down into a kiss that skirts the edge of propriety and then tumbles right off. John lets him go, eventually, but not before grabbing his ass and biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

He looks up at Chas for a moment, uncertain, and then gives him a light, friendly slap on the cheek. “Don’t take all bloody month, all right, mate?” he says, throwing him a close-mouthed smile before turning around, thrusting his hands in his pockets, and wandering off to inspect some dust-covered and apparently newly fascinating books.

Chas blinks. Zed, who's smirking over the edge of her mug, laughs. “I don’t know if it’s better or worse, when you two make up."

Both, in Chas’ experience, but he’s not about to say so. “Take care of yourself.” 

“And of John?"

Chas shrugs, and hazards a glance over to John, who's pretending not listen. “John can take care of himself.”

*


	2. Chapter 2

He makes good time to New York, better than he expects, and is early enough that Renee looks surprised to see him. She’s in a good mood, though; doesn’t say anything about it, just lets him in and goes to get Geraldine, who comes barreling down the stairs and runs straight into his arms before he can even get the door shut behind him.

“Daddy!"

“Hey, baby,” he says, kissing her temple. “What’re we doin’ today? Movie time?"

“Movie time!” she says, beaming, and looks over her shoulder toward Renee, who’s watching them with a strangely unreadable expression. “Are you coming too, Mommy?"

“It’s just you and Daddy today, honey,” Renee says, smiling again. “I’ll see you tonight, okay?” 

“Okay!” says Geraldine, turning back around and tucking her chin on Chas’ shoulder.

*

It’s a good day. They go to a movie, they go out for ice cream, they get lunch, in that order, and Geraldine giggles as she promises not to tell Renee about it.

They go to the park for a while, but it’s so hot that the plastic equipment burns, so they sit together on a bench and just talk. She tells him about summer camp, about the books she’s reading, about how her new friend, Scott, has two daddies, which has to make Father’s Day extra special, right? Chas ruffles her hair and tells her that yes, that’s probably right. 

They get dinner on their way back, and he has her home by eight, giving him plenty of time to tuck her in, read her a story ( _Charlotte’s Web_ , again), and sit with her till she falls asleep. He watches her for a few minutes after: peaceful, still, and smiling in her sleep. 

Eventually, he makes his way down the stairs, only to find Renee waiting for him in the hall, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

They look at each other for a moment.

“Do you—"

“I should—"

They both stop, and Renee gives a nervous, awkward laugh. “Sorry. The guest room’s clean. You can spend the night if you want.” 

“Are you sure?"

“I wouldn’t say so if I wasn’t sure,” she says, and heads for the kitchen. “You want something to drink?"

Chas follows her. “Okay?"

She serves him a glass of white wine, and shrugs unapologetically. “I'm out of beer."

“It’s fine."

They drink in silence for a moment.

“How’s John?”

Chas chokes. “He’s—John." 

She laughs at that, mostly to herself, and takes another gulp of wine. “Yeah. And the new girl? What’s her—uh, Zen?"

“Zed. She’s fine.” 

“Good." She fills her glass again, and smiles to herself, thoughtful. "It's weird, I feel like we see more of you now than we did when you lived here,” she says, and cringes. “Damn it. I didn’t mean that how it...I didn’t mean that how it sounded."

“How did you mean it?” he says, calmly as he can. 

“I just—“ she takes a deep breath. “I owe you an apology. I thought you’d be out of here the minute you could, I thought you’d—I thought you’d jump at the chance to run off with John to do—whatever it is you two do, and never look back."

“I would never—"

“I know,” she says, and reaches out, as if to pat him on the arm. But she pulls her hand back and shakes her head again instead. “I _know_. And I’m glad you’re here. We miss you. _I_ miss you."

“I miss you too,” he says, too quickly; it’s true, he does, and he’d give almost anything to come back here, to be a real husband and father again. 

Renee gives him a tired smile. “That’s nice to hear.” She pauses, like she was about to say something else, then shakes her head. It’s not like her to censor herself, and Chas is instantly on guard.

“Is everything okay?” Renee raises her eyebrows and gives him a long look; Chas nods, point taken. He sits down at the table. “Just tell me."

Renee sighs, follows him, and buries her face in her hands. “I didn’t want to do this to you today."

“Do what?"

“I think it’s…” she looks up at him, and stares for a beat too long. “I think it’s time we pull the trigger on…” she waves a hand between them. "This."

“On the divorce?”

She nods.

“I don’t—“ 

“It’s been almost a year, Francis. Do you really think we’re going back to the way things were?” He takes a slow, pained breath, and she gives him a sympathetic look and reaches over to lay her hand over his. “I love you. I think I’ll always love you. But we both deserve a chance to move on, okay?"

 _Both_ , he notices. But she’s right, and he does want that for her, wants her to have that chance. “I love you, too."

She presses her lips together, and pats his hand once before pulling hers back. “Yeah."

“ _I do_ ,” he says, meaning it, but entirely aware of how weak of a protest it is. 

She takes another sip of wine and drops her gaze. “Can I ask you something?"

“Yes,” he says.

“How long have you been sleeping with John?"

Panic flares. He looks at Renee, who looks back at him steadily, and seems more exhausted than angry. He leans back in his chair. “A couple of months. How’d—how did you know?"

She stares at him for a moment, and her eyes slide to the side of his neck. He reaches up reflexively before he realizes. “He didn’t."

“Oh, he did,” she says, not bothering to keep her voice free from its usual John-induced scorn. “Possessive son of a bitch, huh?"

“It’s not like that,” he mumbles, though by all appearances, it is. If not it’s just to screw with him, or with Renee, neither of which is much better. 

“No? You never wondered why he hates me so much?"

“ _He_ doesn’t hate _you_ that much,” he says, without thinking, and Renee frowns.

“Oh, but I hate _him_ that much, right?” she says, standing up. “Yeah, think about why _that_ is.”

“Renee—“ he reaches out automatically, and she pulls away.

“Go to sleep, _Chas_ ,” she snaps, and then takes a steady, deliberate breath. “We’ll talk about this in the morning."

He watches her go. He finishes his wine in one gulp, goes to bed, and falls asleep thinking about all of the ways he wants to murder John Constantine.

*

They don’t talk about it in the morning.

They take Geraldine out for breakfast, they go to zoo, they watch her ride the carousel and wave at whenever she comes around. They pretend to be a normal, happy family, on the tacit understanding that it’s the last time they’ll actually be able to.

He stays late enough to tuck Geraldine in again, to promise to be back soon as he watches her bottom lip tremble, to hold back a few tears of his own outside of her room before he goes back downstairs to say goodbye to Renee. 

She’s cool with him, but not unkind. Gives him a hug, kisses his cheek, and then takes his hands in hers. “Her camp’s over in a month. If you want to—“ she presses her lips together. “If you want to take her down to Georgia for a week, that would be...fine.” 

Chas swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. “Are you sure?"

She squeezes his hands. “I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t sure."

*

The drive back to the mill house seems to take longer than the trip away from it had been; he spends the time catching sight of the large and obvious hickey on his neck in the rearview mirror, and trying to hold on to his anger at John.

It’s dark when he gets home, and Zed’s car is gone, which he takes to mean that the house is empty, but he notices that the lights are on as he walks down the stairs. He finds John at the table with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, leaning over a bunch of indecipherable charts.

“Back so soon?” John calls out, without looking up, and Chas walks up to him.

“Could say the same to you."

John squints at something and makes a note on a scrap of paper. “Haven’t left yet.” 

“How come?"

John shrugs noncommittally, and takes the cigarette out of his mouth. He looks over at Chas and gives him a very innocent smile. “Have a good trip, Daddy?"

“Had better, John."

“Mm,” John says, taking a slow drag from his cigarette and turning back to the table with a smirk. “Shame, that."

Chas rolls his eyes, which John pretends not to see, but his smirk deepens.

“Good night, John."

“Just as you say, mate."

*

He goes to bed alone.

He wakes up to the sound of John snoring, and looks over to find John curled up on his side, with his back to Chas and his head resting on his own arm.

Chas sighs, rolls over, and drags John back against his chest. John brings with him the almost tangible scent of cigarettes, dust, and sweat. He mumbles something incomprehensible but full of obvious annoyance at having been moved, which Chas ignores.

He buries his face in John’s hair instead, tightens his grip around John’s waist, and shuts his eyes.

*

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the following, in no particular order:
> 
> 1\. [This tumblr post](http://morethanonepage.tumblr.com/post/122171395894/svtvan-gives-you-a-noticeable-hickey-on-your).  
> 2\. [This discussion of devastating and juvenile handjobs](http://morethanonepage.tumblr.com/post/122176679466/mumblingsage-morethanonepage-mumblingsage), which Hellbazer!John Constantine canonically does give.  
> 3\. The fact that it was Father's Day this weekend.


End file.
